MIA MISSING IN ACTION
by Aggie Escott
Summary: Two men waken in a prison unable to remember who they are or why they are here. Please note - NONCON - If you don't like, please don't read. Not explicit Please review for me.
1. Unknown

**MIA - MISSING IN ACTION  
**Chapter 1  
Unknown

_**I can only wait for the final **__**amnesia**__**, the one that can erase an entire life.**__**"**___ ___**Luis Buñuel **_

He woke up with a mother of all headaches. He moved his head only slightly and it felt as if a vice was tightening across his temples. So without moving his head, he moved his eyes to inspect the room.

A simply furnished cheap dirty hotel room – at first glance at least. Until you took in the vertical bars at the window and the flush fitted light above his head. He was wearing what seemed to be a hospital gown – too short and not very warm. The room was cool but bearable. There were two doors.

Carefully, trying to keep his head level, a moan of pain escaping his lips, he tried to stand. His legs were very wobbly, and when he let go of the bed, his legs gave way and he slid painfully to the floor. He dragged himself to one of the doors and tried it, but it was either locked or stuck. The second door opened into a dirty malodorous shower room. There was a mirror above a small shelf. He used the shelf to haul himself to his feet and look at himself.

Dark untidy hair, a little too long – touching his collar at the back, the fringe getting in his eyes - pale skin and well toned body, dark tired eyes and dark eye brows, strong jaw with a few days growth of stubble. He didn't recognise the man staring back at him. A stranger to himself.

And no name.

He slid back down onto the floor and put his aching head into his hands. He had a name, but it was gone. Where was he? And why? How did he get here? Too many questions... He needed to get some measure of control over what ever was going on here.

He stood up again and looked into the mirror a second time. Touching a face totally unfamiliar. The dark brows creased into a frown. Carefully he turned around – he found he was able to stand as long as he was careful – and shouted to anyone who was listening.

"Who are you? Why have you brought me here? Show yourself!"

There was no answer. Just silence.

-0-0-0-

"Let me out of here!" he shouted, hammering on the door. But he got the same response as all the other times. Nothing.

He gave up and turned with his back to the door and leaned on it.

_What in the devil's name is going on here? I can't even remember my name? Or how I got here!_

He walked back to his 'en suite'; a filthy alcove with a shower and toilet. The mirror reflected back a face that he couldn't remember seeing before. Straggly light brown hair to his shoulders, big hazel eyes with dark shadows around them, full wide mouth, stubbly chin. A bit on the skinny side. But he didn't recognise his own face. He touched his cheek to prove to himself that the person he was looking at was indeed a reflection and not a trick of some kind.

With a sigh he went to the barred window. The room where he was being kept prisoner was three or four floors up – he couldn't be sure exactly – and there was no way of opening the window. He thought of breaking the glass, but that would achieve nothing except maybe a cut hand and drafty room. The view he didn't recognise, so he had no idea where he was.

He had been awake for what seemed like several hours, and he had seen and heard no one. He was thirsty, but he didn't trust the water from the tap.

The sound of his door being unlocked got his attention.

-0-0-0-

The dark haired man needed a drink. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but his mouth was dry and uncomfortable, and the headache was probably caused by dehydration. He turned towards the basin in the tiny shower room. There was a plastic cup on the side. He inspected the cup and washed it in the cold water, then he half filled it and took a sip. There were no adverse effects, so he drunk the rest of the water, replaced the cup on the side, and lowered himself to the floor, ready to crawl back to the bed. That was when the pain struck. The awful cramps twisted his insides; he fell to his side, arms around his stomach, groaning in agony. His eyes watered and he was suddenly sick onto the bare wooden floor. He tried to get onto his hands and knees but as his stomach cramped again he fell back sideways.

He lay there in his own mess as the cramps slowly subsided. He held his abdomen tightly and dragged himself miserably back into the squalid shower room, and crawled into the shower. He reached up and turned the tap labelled 'cold' and screamed as scalding water shot down onto his back. He tried to turn it off but the scalding pain was too much and he fainted in the shower, the burning needles stabbing relentlessly at his skin.

-0-0-0-

A tray of food was deposited on the floor and the door closed again before the young man sitting under the window could say anything. All he saw of the food bringer was a hand. He walked over to check out the food.

A BLT sandwich in a triangular plastic box, a packet with two biscuits in, and a five hundred ml bottle of flavoured water. Under normal circumstances, a nice meal. But he didn't intend eating anything. It could be drugged.

He closely inspected the water bottle – there didn't appear to be any way that poison could be put in the bottle. It was still sealed. He opened the top and pulled out the sports lid, and cautiously took a small mouthful. It was nice and cool, and tasted of peaches. He needed this, and quickly drank down half the bottle. As he stooped down to put the bottle on the tray, he felt suddenly very dizzy. He stood up and put his arm out to the wall, but it was further away than his eyes told him he was. The room was spinning and he went down on his knees, and then forward, hitting his face on the small table before he hit the floor.

-0-0-0-

The dark haired man woke up on his grubby bed. He was lying naked on his front, His back greasy with burn ointment. It stung, but not too bad. At least the camps had stopped. There was a tray of food – a sandwich in a triangular plastic box, a bottle of water, and a packet of biscuits. He turned away from the food. He was very hungry, but he had decided not to eat. They would have to let him go soon. Wouldn't he be missed? Surely there was someone who would miss him.

He turned and sat on the bed and pulled a sheet around him, and tried to remember...

There was a dark haired woman; he could see her face, but not her name. Was she special? He didn't know. There was a young man too – he could remember his face too. He closed his eyes tightly in an effort to remember his name but it was gone. These two – wouldn't they miss him? Wouldn't they come looking for him?

"Someone will miss me, and come and find me!" he shouted. "You can't keep me here. It is a federal offence!"

_Federal Offence? What did that mean? Where did those words come from?_

"Please, either let me go or tell me what you want!"

No reply.

He picked up the tray and threw it angrily across the room. "And take this stinking food away. I will not eat this poison!"

As the tray hit the wall, a small piece of newspaper floated to the ground. He crawled over to reach it, and he read with increasing despair the words thereon. Anything that could be used to identify him had been cut out. But when he had read to the end, the fragile control he had over himself, and his hope of rescue, was dashed to pieces:

_The missing ( ) who disappeared in the ( ) three months ago have been declared legally dead. No trace has been found of ( ) and ( ) since their ( ) crashed in ( ) and now the search for their bodies has been officially called off. Their colleagues of ( ) have said that the loss is a terrible one to bear, but as the work cannot stop, ( ) have been employed as replacements on a permanent basis now their ( ) deaths are certified._

He read the piece of newspaper several times. He was officially dead. No one would come and find him. If he wanted to get out, it was down to him. And there was someone else? Two people missing? Was this person here, or was that one really dead? And who was it?

Three months? He couldn't get his brain to understand. He had been missing for three months? And in three months, no one had found him! What had happened to him in three months?

And there was a crash.

Car? Plane? Train?

"Hey, whoever is listening! I need some answers! Please, please tell me what is going on!"

He angrily wiped at a tear of frustration and rage.

-0-0-0-

The skinny young man woke slowly on the uncovered wooden floor. It was getting dark, but he'd already seen that there were no light switches in the room. He touched the small gash on his forehead, just above his right eye brow and parallel with it. It was giving him a nice headache, but nothing he couldn't live with. As he tried to sit up, he noticed a small newspaper cutting on the table, with some names and places cut out. He picked it up and read it...

...So there had been two of them. Who was the other person? He had a vague memory of a tall good looking dark haired man, and when he tried to visualise him, he felt a twist of emotion inside. Was this other person a lover? He needed a name... why couldn't he remember?

Three months missing and now they had given up. What had been happening for three months?

_What the hell is going on?_

_And why?_

There was obviously a plan in this. To have worked at it for three months, it had to be something big.

Money?

Sex?

Revenge?

Which motive was this one under? What did they want of him?

He went over to the bed and laid down on it. He guessed that starving him to death wasn't the plan. They could have done that already if that was what they wanted. No there was something less obvious going down, something sinister and, he was sure, something unpleasant.

The sound of the door opening again. This time someone walked into the room.

-0-0-0-

When the door to his room opened and banged back onto the wall, the dark haired man was instantly alert. He wanted to get up and fight to escape, but for a reason that he couldn't remember, his legs were not working. The man was wearing a ski mask, tight black shirt and black trousers. He crossed the room to the prisoner.

"Why are you keeping me here? You have no right to..."

The fist in the face cut off his words and left him senseless. He tried not to fall back onto the bed, but his head was swimming, and he crashed backwards, unable to prevent it. Duct tape was wound around his eyes and paper stuffed into his mouth, held in with more tape. He was turned onto his front and his wrists flexi cuffed to the bed posts. By the time his senses returned enough for him to offer some resistance, it was too late. He pulled at the bonds, and struggled to get off the bed, but it was useless. He lay still, frightened, breathing heavily, waiting for whatever was going to happen.

-0-0-0-

**A/N Ok I'm trying something a little different here. Let me know if you want me to carry on"**


	2. Memory

**A/N Thank you everyone for your encouragement. Here's chapter 2**

**MIA - MISSING IN ACTION  
**Chapter 2  
Memory

"_**Memories are behind us, but hope lies in front." ANON**_

The young man fought and kicked and bit the big man who had come into his room. He was wearing all black with a ski mask, but his muscles stood in stark contrast to his own skinny arms. A wad of paper was stuffed into his mouth, and before he could force it out again, duct tape was stuck across his lips holding it in place.

He managed to squirm out of the man's grip but before he could reach up and rip the tape away again, he felt a fist on the side of his face, and he went down. The semi conscious man was lifted from the floor and stood on his feet where he swayed slightly as he tried to get a grip back on reality, such as it was. His hands were pulled behind his back and his wrists forced upwards. It hurt, but the gag stopped him from yelping in pain.

He was led out of the room and down a corridor, down a flight of stairs and round to the front of the house. He seemed to be walking for a long time as he tried to remember the route. But they were deliberately trying to confuse him, and eventually he gave up when he realised that they had been along the same corridor twice.

Suddenly they stopped, and another door was unlocked and he was shoved inside.

-0-0-0-

There were two men in the room. One was standing by a dirty bed, wearing the ski mask and black clothes. But it was the man on the bed that the young man couldn't take his eyes off. A stab of vague memory cut through his brain. The dark hair, the body shape, looked so familiar. He was pushed closer, and that was when he knew a name! He remembered the man, his name...

_Hotch! Oh god! Hotch? Is it you? I thought you were dead!_

He wasn't sure. The hair was long and unkempt, his ribs were showing through the skin, and his legs were thin and wasted. What he could see of the face was angular and thin, his cheek bones too prominent. But still his arms were muscular and strong, and the muscles of his back were toned.

He wanted to shout to him, hold him, but he was prevented from doing either. A voice behind him, the first spoken words he could ever remember hearing, said to him,

"Screw him. Do it good and you will both be fed."

The young man looked in horror at the speaker, and turned back to the still form on the bed.

_They want me to make love with him? Rape a defenceless man? Rape not love. It would be rape..._

He shook his head. He refused to violate this man who was so helpless.

One of the masked men went to the dark haired man and punched him in the kidneys. The man tried to twist away, making a sound of pain and shock in his throat. Almost immediately the skin darkened, and the man whimpered behind the gag.

"Now! Screw him." The order came again.

The young man stepped forward towards the bed.

_How am I going to be able to do this? I am so sorry ... whoever you are, I don't want to hurt you._

He climbed onto the bed and knelt between the dark haired man's knees. Gently he touched the growing bruise on his side, feeling the flesh tense and quiver beneath his fingers. He pushed the man's thighs apart as he crawled further up the bed, reaching under his waist, he lifted his body from the bed. Softly stroking the man's dark dirty hair, hoping he understood, he forced himself into him, his tears of regret falling onto the back of the man's neck.

He could hear shouts from the two men watching and one of them grabbed the young man by the waist and forced his movements. The man beneath him didn't move. There was a lot of blood and when the masked man had finished the young man rolled aside and for a second or two, touched the dark haired man's face trying to say sorry. But he was dragged away.

"Enough!" he was told, and he was pulled from the room. Trying to look over his shoulder, trying to see who it was...

_Was it Hotch? Aaron! Aaron Hotchner! A name!_

He didn't know, but he had just raped someone, a helpless man... he had just raped a helpless man for a reward.

Prostitution.

Bile rose in his throat and was he was pulled along and he ripped the gag from his mouth. He vomited down himself and it mixed with the blood of the stranger that covered the front of his hospital shirt.

He didn't try to remember the way back, but it wasn't as far. His head was swimming and he still felt sick. When he got back to his room he was pushed inside. He ran in a few steps, then stopped and turned around. "You don't get fed. I had to help you." And the door slammed and was locked.

-0-0-0-

Someone came back into the room where the dark haired man was still tied to the bed, lying in blood and mess. He felt cold steel against his face as the tape holding the gag in place was cut away. Skin from his lips ripped away with the tape. He closed his eyes tightly beneath the blindfold as it too was ripped away. Then the ties holding his wrists.

As soon as he was free he curled up on the filthy bed, finding a small measure of comfort in wrapping his arms around himself. He tilted his head and looked into the eyes of his captor.

"I need some water..." he croaked. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, speaking was difficult. "...please."

The man in black turned away and left the room, locking the door. The dark haired man started to get off the bed. He was weak from hunger and thirst, but he knew there was water in the shower room. He remembered what happened last time, but he needed it all the same. And he wanted to be clean.

He half crawled, half dragged himself across the room to the shower leaving a smear of blood in his wake. He reached up to the tap in the shower and turned it on without getting in, he let the water fill the tray with his hand over the drain. Then he leaned over and drank the water.

-0-0-0-

The young man stood in the middle of his room and cried. He wanted to get this blood off him, wash away the smell and feel of what he had done, but he felt he didn't deserve to. The blood was drying now, and it was sticky on his body and hands. He went to the shower and stood under the scalding quills as they beat down on him. He had no soap so he just let the water rinse the blood from him. As he stood there he thought of the man he had raped.

Was it Hotch? He looked thin and ill, but it did say they had been missing for three months. If he had been starved for three months, would he look like that? His upper body was strong and muscular, he had tried to take care of himself, but why would they make him rape Hotch?

Again the twist of emotion. Was he in love with the man? He slid down the wall of the shower and sat in the tray as the water beat down on him. His hospital gown stuck to him and the water suddenly turned ice cold, but he didn't move, in fact he hardly felt it. His brain was remembering. He remembered that he was in love with Aaron Hotchner, they spent time together...he had flashes of memory where they were together, few where he was not with him.

Aaron Hotchner... I think I'm in love with you.

Is that why they made him rape him? If it was Hotch.

He grabbed at his wet hair and pulled it.

_Think, man. Think!_

-0-0-0-

The dark haired man couldn't sit in the shower, it was too painful. So he lay on his side and curled up. He thought he was crying but he wasn't sure. He was sure there had been more in his life than this. There had to have been a 'before time' when he knew who he was. People knew him, it said on that newspaper cutting. They would have looked for him at first. Someone missed him. The woman with dark hair? He held his hands in front of his face.

Had these hands touched her?

Had he made love to her?

Did she love him?

"Please, whoever you are, don't stop looking for us." He said out loud. "Please don't stop looking..."

He reached up with a shaky hand and turned off the water. There was no soap or towel, so he crawled out of the shower and through the door to his bed. The soiled sheet was gone now, and a washed but stained one in its place. He pulled himself onto the bed and wrapped the sheet around him. With his head on the grubby mattress, he fell into a sleep inhabited by evil and wickedness.

-0-0-0-

The young man paced his room trying to think. He went over and over the newspaper cutting, trying to extract clues. His first thought was that whatever the people were that he worked with, who had replaced them, and whatever work they and he used to do must have been pretty important for them to be in the papers in the first place.

_The missing ( ) who disappeared in the ( ) three months ago..._

Disappeared in the what? Forest? Sea? Desert? Ok leave that for now. What was the next clue?

_...No trace has been found of ( ) and ( ) since their ( ) crashed in ( )..._

Two people. Himself and the dark haired man. Their what crashed? Not a boat, or it would say sank. So not sea then. Car or plane. Plane fits best, Their plane crashed in the forest or desert. If it was a plane crash in the sea, it would say 'went down'

The young man was getting excited. What was the next bit?

_...as the work cannot stop, ( ) have been employed as replacements... _

The work cannot stop, so it is ongoing and important.

Government? Diplomat? Negotiator? Police?

Any one of those would fit. He didn't think 'negotiator' though. A negotiator would move from job to job. Replacements as such would not be necessary. Normal police officers are not replaced as such. But Governemt police? FBI? Some kind of special team that needed numbers?

So, two men disappeared when their plane crashed in the forest or desert three months ago. The search had been called off and their jobs as Diplomats or FBI Agents had now been filled.

He sat on the end of the bed and lay back with his arms stretched out above him. He felt a little happier now. He was getting closer. He would not say anything though, except to the other man if he got the chance. Maybe they would get more clues.

-0-0-0-

The other man was in the throes of a nightmare where he was strapped to a wheelchair and starved. He felt the cramping of his stomach and the thick dryness in his mouth. Tears soaked the mattress as he cried in his sleep for something that was always just past his vision, just out of reach. He stretched his arms out towards it, but it always moved further away. He didn't know what it was, but he knew he had to have it. He couldn't get closer because his legs were tied and useless. Loneliness surrounded him like a silent shroud. Something crawled in his hair and he woke up screaming.


	3. Ccime Scene Photos

**MIA – MISSING IN ACTION  
**Chapter 3  
Crime Scene Photos

_**Man is the cruellest animal. - **__**Friedrich Nietzsche**_

"Do you think I like this?" he yelled, getting to his feet. "I don't want this, Derek. I have never wanted it. I came back for the one case, and I love the field work. It was me or Strauss! Which would you prefer?"

"Well for someone who doesn't want the job, you jumped in pretty damned quick!" Morgan hissed, as he leaned forward over Rossi's desk.

Rossi sat down again and briefly put his hands on his forehead. "Aaron would have said 'Take a walk.' at this point." Derek made as if to leave, fire in his eyes. Dave called him back. "But I'm not Aaron. Come here, I want to show you something."

Morgan stopped with his hand on the door. He was surprised by the gentle tone in Rossi's voice. He walked back to Dave's desk.

"Derek, I took the job on two conditions. The first was that Hotch's office be left for him to come back to, and second, that I be allowed to use Federal Resources to continue the search. You were kept out of the loop, Derek, because it is not procedure, and it is only Strauss who knows. It could mean my job if I'm caught.

Morgan sat down. "So why me? Why now?"

"I felt you needed to know. I felt you would put your career on the line for Hotch and Reid."

Derek rubbed the back of his head. "I'm sorry, Dave. I had no idea."

"Well, how could you. Garcia doesn't know officially, but I think she might have guessed; she has been doing some work for me."

"Dave, we would put our lives, never mind our careers, on the line for those two."

Dave opened his desk drawer, and took out a thick folder. He slid it across the table. "Before you open it, I want to hear you say that you know what you are getting into." Their eyes met, and Morgan inclined his head.

"I understand."

"Ok, now let's go through it piece by piece." Dave said. "You don't know how many times I've done this, I need fresh eyes, and mine will never be that!"

Morgan pulled the folder closer and opened the first page.

Mason Lowe stared back at him with his one good eye. Even in the photograph, Lowe's glass eye stared off into space. Under the photo was the list of offences he was going to be tried for. Some tame, like voyeurism, pimping; some not so tame like male and female rape, kidnapping, poisoning.

"Take a look at the crimes, Derek, and think about them while you read the rest. I'll get us a drink. You are going to need one."

Morgan sat at Dave's desk and turned over the pictures one by one. The wreck of the plane in the Nevada desert; the body of the pilot; footprints around one side of the fuselage of the wrecked plane, identified later as being those of two of the passengers – Lowe and Reid; a close up of the bullet hole in the fuselage shot from in the cabin. Nothing else. No sign of Hotch apart from blood on the seat he had been assigned, and blood on the ceiling of the cabin. Hotch's crutches were gone, so was his body and Reid and Lowe.

Evidence showed that Hotch had been attacked while the plane was in flight. The bullet that had lodged in the wing had been fired from Reid's gun. The plane was not flying at high altitudes so the cabin was not under high pressure, so the depressurising caused by Reid's bullet would not have been a contributing factor. The pilot with his skull bashed in probably was.

Reconstruct based on the evidence...

Mason Lowe beat Hotch unconscious while Reid was elsewhere. Reid fires at Lowe and somehow, maybe through turbulence, misses his target and the bullet passes through the fuselage and hits the wing. Lowe attacks Reid and knocks him out. Lowe forces the plane down and kills the pilot. He is met by other UnSubs who kidnap the Agents and leave.

Morgan picked up a magnifying glass off the desk and looks closely at the photograph. A lack of other prints and tyre tracks led the investigators to conclude that the three survivors had wandered away from the wreck and got lost in the desert where they subsequently died.

But Hotch knew better than to wander off. And if he was out of action, which was a possibility, Reid would have secured the UnSub and stayed with Hotch.

They had to have been taken. But how?

He squinted at the picture. Dave came back in with the drinks.

"They've been looking in the wrong place, haven't they?"

"My conclusions exactly."

"They would never have wandered off, and by this blood here I would think Hotch would be incapable of wandering anywhere."

"Yes."

"So whatever the investigators say, our men were taken from the wreck somehow, either dead or alive, with Mason Lowe."

"Agreed."

But how? There are no prints or tracks."

"Look here." Dave said, pointing to a spot North of the wreck. "What do you make of this?"

Morgan moved the desk lamp and held it at an angle so it wouldn't reflect off the glossy paper. He examined the area carefully. The way the sand was lying against the direction of the wind...

"Oh my god...a helicopter!"

"Yes. They may have been forced down." Dave said. "Remember the black box?"

"They never found it did they?"

Dave turned a few pages over, getting excited now he was sharing his discovery. He pointed at a photograph and its annotations.

"'The housing for the black box was broken, possibly in the crash.'" Morgan read. "Or more likely by the UnSub after the crash, who took it and destroyed it."

"But the important thing is..." Dave said.

"...our men could still be alive somewhere being held by a rapist kidnapper poisoner."

-0-0-0-

The young man griped his growling stomach. He couldn't remember feeling this hungry. Even Tobias had fed him...

A memory... He lay back and closed his eyes and tried to remember. Little flashes came back to him, one in particular he wanted to hold on to, but like the others, slipped away from him.

Someone held him. Gentle loving arms around him. Who was it?

He made himself relax starting at his feet – a technique he often used when he got over excited – ant thought about Tobias.

There was a gunshot and Tobias was dead. Someone's arms around him.

Dark hair, dark eyes – Hotch. Aaron Hotchner. They worked together. He was an FBI Agent.

The man in the other room was Agent Aaron Hotchner.

It was as much as he could do not to leap off the bed and start jumping around. The UnSubs did not need to know that he knew. He turned over onto his front in case they were watching and he couldn't help the smile. It was coming back. He just needed his name.

When he fell asleep it was deep and for once, dreamless.

-0-0-0-

The dark haired man was damp with sweat and shaking after the dream. He was tangled in the sheet which was now bloody and torn. He pulled himself up and untangled his legs from the sheet and examined it. He tried to fold it to disguise the fact that it was ripped, but it had been noticed by his keepers. He heard the door unlock, and he shook with fear. He knew what was coming but he couldn't remember why.

The door banged back and three masked men came into the room. One man appeared to have only one eye. He snatched the sheet away and threw it in the corner.

He looked at the three men in front of him, and willed them to just get it over with. The first stepped close and lifted his head up by his hair. A second punched him hard in the face; he heard rather than felt his nose break and blood ran down over his lips. A small cry escaped his lips when a second punch, this time on the temple dazed him and his hands that had been trying to free his hair from the grip of the one eyed man, fell to his side. Yanking him off the bed by his hair the man swung him across the room where he hit the wall with his back and the air left his lungs and he crumpled onto the floor

He was struggling to keep awake when a kick to the chin sent his world spinning and another attacker jumped and kicked him in the groin and the shock wave that travelled up his body and broke in his brain sent him into blessed unconsciousness.

The three of them booted his inert body around the floor for a bit, but his unresponsiveness bored them, so they woke him up with a bowl of water in the face and started again.

He held his hands in front of his face to try to protect himself but while he shielded his face, he took a kick to the solar plexus, and he couldn't breathe or move. He tried to cry out as he took another kick to the groin. He curled forwards the best he could and the UnSubs kicked the back of his head and his kidneys and buttocks where he was already injured.

When they finally left the beaten and bloodied man an hour later, he was too weak to get back on the bed, too weak to retrieve the torn sheet to cover himself with. So he didn't move from the pool of blood on the floor and prayed to his neglected god that he would die soon. He didn't think he could take another beating like that again.

-0-0-0-

The young man was looking in the mirror trying to remember his name. Now he was certain that the other man was Aaron Hotchner, FBI Agent, he thought his name would come back quickly, but it was being elusive – it would almost be there, then drift out of reach.

He needed to see the other man again. He went to the door.

"Please!" he shouted. "I want to see that man again!"

He would tell him his name. That would help him. Maybe he would remember his name.

He banged on the door.

"I want to see him. I want him! Please!" If they thought they'd get some more 'entertainment', there was a chance they'd let him see him.

He was surprised when the door opened. The masked man grabbed his arm and pulled him through the door. This time when he memorised the route, it was much shorter, and he thought he'd easily find his way back again.

The other man's door was opened and he was allowed to enter.

_Oh no! Hotch!_

This time he knew the man; this was the man he saw in his memories. Thinner, weaker, and badly beaten, but it was him. He ran to him and knelt by his side. Carefully he lifted the man's head onto his lap and brushed the dirty and bloody hair off his face. This was the man who held him so gently after his ordeal with Tobias.

"I need something to wash these wounds!" he said, but the man was leaving, and the door was locked behind him.

The young man looked around for something to use as a bandage, and saw the torn sheet in the corner. Gently he laid Hotch back down and went and got the sheet. He ripped it in half, and one piece he tied around Hotch's hips like a sarong, the other half he tore into bandages, and squares to clean him up.

There was nothing to carry water in, so he tenderly carried the beaten man over to the shower, He blocked the drain with a piece of rag, and filled the tray. And gently, with his head on his lap, he washed the blood off his face and body.


	4. Escape Plan

**MIA – MISSING IN ACTION  
**Chapter 4  
Escape Plan

_**Capt. John Sheridan**__** said, "The first obligation of a prisoner is to **__**escape." (Babylon 5)**_

The young man washed Hotchner's face carefully. He wanted antiseptic, or at least some salt to prevent infection, but such luxuries were not about to be supplied. His nose and mouth were encrusted with blood and vomit, and his split lip was swollen and bruised. His nose was smashed and the young man was worried about Hotch's breathing. He could remember when he had a broken nose as a child, how distressing it was not being able to breathe properly.

He made a compress with the sheet and soaked it in water, bandaging it to his severely bruised back. The injuries though were internal. There was nothing he could do except hope that the cool water would give some relief.

When the young man had finished cleaning Hotchner up, he lifted him and laid him carefully on the bed. He hadn't opened his eyes during the time that he had washed him, but he was still alive, although the young man wondered how he could survive such a beating. His ribs were badly bruised and he thought he must have several broken. His back was blackened around his kidneys and he would be peeing blood for a long time. He had a broken nose and a split lip, and too much blood in his hair. And to the young man's dismay, he was bleeding from his earlier assault.

He sat on the bed with his back against the wall with Hotchner's head on his lap.

"Hotch." The young man whispered. "Hotch, wake up."

The dark haired man opened his swollen eyes slowly to look up at the man in whose arms he was resting.

"Spencer?"

Just one word and the world rushed in on the young man.

Spencer

Spencer Reid FBI Agent, profiler.

"Hotch, you remember!" he whispered.

The beaten man in his arms nodded slowly. "You are Spencer Reid." He raised his eyebrows in that familiar way that almost made Reid cry with relief. "I am Aaron Hotchner. You call me Hotch."

Reid hugged Hotch to his chest. He released him when he heard a little cry of pain. "Hotch, we need to get out of here."

Did he know it was he that assaulted him? Was he conscious when it happened? His eyes had been covered.

Reid knew he would have to tell him. When they were free. Not now.

Hotch rocked his head in an effort to stay awake. "Can't leave... I am crippled. Hold you up..." He reached up a trembling hand. "Going to faint... hurts... " His eyes rolled up in their sockets and he passed out.

Reid kept hold of him, he knew he wouldn't be allowed to stay with him for long, and he made the most of it. Hotch was in a bad way, kidney damage just one of the things he had stopping his escape. It was down to him, Spencer Reid, to get away and find help. Who knew what they'd do to Hotch if he escaped, but he would have to leave Hotch behind. He left him behind before. And he had almost died. And here he was planning to do the same again.

"I'm so sorry, Hotch. Please understand why I have to go without you. I don't know how I'll do it, but I'll get help for you." He whispered to his friend.

The door opened and three masked men entered. They grabbed Reid and Hotchner's head fell back onto the floor with a sickening crack. They held Reid by the wrists, arms outstretched and slammed him against the wall. The back of his head hit the wall and they let him go, he fell forward onto the floor. Two of them dragged Spencer out of the room, his head hanging forward and his feet dragging on the floor. He didn't react when they threw him back into his room.

-0-0-0-

The one-eyed man stayed with Hotchner. When the door was closed he lifted the unconscious man of the floor and dropped him face down on the bed. The mattress was soiled with dry blood and body fluids, but Mason Lowe didn't care. Violating an unconscious man was something that he especially liked, and this man was good looking too, and he turned him on just seeing him lying there defenceless and the sarong just about was the icing on the cake. He knelt on the bed behind him and pulled the man's waist so that his buttocks were level with his ankles, and he raped the unconscious man violently and savagely biting his back and neck until he was exhausted, and rolled off him and kicked him onto the floor. Hotch groaned as he hit the floor, and the sound angered Lowe who still had some energy to use. So he used it kicking Hotch across the floor. He picked him up and threw him against the rail of the bed. He made a soft cry as his bruised kidneys took another beating. He reached up to the bed with weak shaking hands.

Lowe was enraged.

"Stop moving, you filthy scum!" screamed Lowe, and dragged him by the hair to the toilet and pushed his head under the filthy water. Hotch struggled a bit at first; he reached up and tried to prise the fingers out of his hair. He fought feebly for what was now his life, but soon his hands stilled and fell away. Lowe pulled him out of the water and threw him into the shower and turned on the cold water to revive him. He felt better now.

He left Hotch's room and went to get some food. Exercise always made him hungry.

-0-0-0-

Spencer came round on his face in his own room.

Spencer Reid. Hotch knew him.

Reid went to the mirror and looked at himself.

"Well, Spencer Reid, you need to get out of here."

There were two ways out – the door or the window. He went to the window. The bars were wooden and would be easy to remove them. He needed to see the wall, to see if he would be able to climb it well enough to get away.

He twisted the bars. And realised that some of them, if he lifted them, came out of holes in the stone wall without him having to break them. Three he removed like that, and he used the bars now to break the window.

The glass was thin and old and when he had smashed the glass right back to the edge, he looked out to see if he could climb down.

The wall was ancient sandstone, like an English castle. There were lots of places where he would be able to climb.

It wasn't something that he was good at, and he had never climbed without a partner to whom he would be roped, but this was a desperate measure, and the only way to get help for Hotch.

He squeezed through the gap made by the removed bars and lowered himself out of the window.

His heart was in his mouth as he glanced down and it suddenly occurred to him what he was actually doing.

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!!_

He swung his legs in a wide arc trying to find a foot hold. By the time his foot found a little dip to press into he was on the verge of hysteria. He would not be able to climb back through the window now. Clinging to the vertical face, he lowered himself, his other foot seeking an ledge lower than the first. For a moment he thought there wasn't one, than his foot kicked against an outcrop, and he pressed himself again to the wall.

Without looking down, he looked around for a hand hold. He really didn't want to let go of the security of the window sill, but he knew that these UnSubs were going to beat Hotch to death and he was too sick to protect himself. In a smooth movement, he brought his hand down to a hold level with his shoulder, and now he had to move his first foot again.

Reid was shaking with fear now and pressed into the wall to try to regain control. Fifty feet up on a vertical wall was not the place to have a panic attack.

_Slow deep breathing, Spencer. In... out... in... out..._

Soon he felt calm enough to move his foot. He straightened his leg and to his relief he felt a foothold. Now the second hand.

Letting go of the window sill with his second hand threatened another attack.

_Oh no no no no!_

More careful breathing, and he was ready.

He didn't think he had ever felt so vulnerable stuck on this wall, but he thought back to what the UnSubs were doing, and he reminded himself that this was the only way.

His hand was now in the cleft that he had had his foot in. The one good thing about this was the further he climbed, the less distance he had to fall.

He swung his leg down again, and found a foot hold, his opposite hand gripping the wall near his shoulder, now his second foot, now his second hand...

He glanced up at the sanctuary of the window above him, and that was a mistake... He felt himself about to fall back. He pressed forward onto the wall again as close as he could, the rough hewn sandstone digging into his face. He let out a shuddering breath as he clung there, counting in his mind to stave off the panic attack that was yet again threatening to overwhelm him. It was several minutes before he was ready to try again.

He thought it was going to rain, he could smell the ozone in the air. There was going to be a storm. He needed to get down off this wall before it struck, but then the storm would cover his escape.

He reached for his next hand hold and lowered himself another foot. So far so good. He was beginning to feel confident that this would work.

He clung to the wall again for a rest. He had to be half way now.

As he moved his foot, he heard laughter. It was coming from below him.

He allowed himself a glance down. He needed to know if he had been seen.

There was no doubt that he had been. The three UnSubs stared up at him. He thought they were laughing at him, he could hear them.

Suddenly a bullet ricochet off the wall next to his head. He clung there waiting for a bullet to hit him, but it didn't. Still he had to climb down to the taunts and jeers of the UnSubs watching him. He felt tears of frustration spring to his eyes as he realised he would never escape, and he was going to be punished for this.

First hand, second foot, second hand, first foot...

And that was enough for the watchers. The bullet struck his right shoulder, and for a second or two he stayed on the wall shaking and trembling and holding his breath. Then the force of the bullet sent him backwards.

He landed on his back on the grass and broken window glass at their feet. His head bounced once and glass stuck in his back and legs. He stared up at the watchers, and slowly closed his eyes, waiting for the punishment. He had heard a crack of a breaking bone as he hit the ground, but he was too stunned to move. His tormentors were not satisfied yet. They knew if they did not punish him for his escape attempt, he would try again. Lowe began with a kick to the stomach. He then stood back and watched Reid vomit blood onto the grass. Then the three of them took it in turns to kick him into unconsciousness.

"You will not try to escape again, you filth!" Lowe snarled. When you wake up we have a task for you, and you had better do a good job, or the other one gets it.

Picking the unconscious Reid off the grass, Lowe dragged Reid by the hair round to the main entrance. Up three floors in the lift, and back into his room. They left him on the bed, where he lay unmoving as the sun went down and it began to rain. Soon the wind began to howl around the old building and through the broken window, and Reid's body began to chill in the freezing night air.


	5. Goals

**Warning – Noncon, M/M.**

**MIA MISSING IN ACTION  
**Chapter 5  
Goals

_**The game of life is hard to play.  
You're gonna lose it anyway.  
The Theme from Mash**_

There was a knock on Rossi's door and Morgan came in. Dave was about to put a file in his drawer but he took it out again.

"I think we should tell Garcia." He said, sitting down opposite Dave.

Dave tilted his head questioningly.

"I think she's guessed anyway, and she is one hundred percent discreet."

Dave didn't say anything but picked up his phone. "Garcia, please come to my office...thank you." He put the phone down.

"You know that will scare her half to death, don't you?" Morgan said with a grin. Before Dave could reply, she was knocking on the office door. Morgan got up and opened the door.

"It's ok, Baby Girl." He whispered as she passed him. "You're not in trouble."

"You wanted to see me sir?" she said.

"Sit down, Penelope. I have been asking you to conduct some work for me lately, and keep it to yourself."

Garcia glanced at Morgan. "Yes Sir."

"Well, Morgan suggests that we tell you what we have been working on. It must stay inside these four walls though." Dave said. "Do you understand?"

"You can count on my absolute discretion, Sir." she answered.

"We are working on our own time, unofficially, and using FBI resources, to locate Hotchner and Reid." He said, watching her face.

"So you don't believe they are dead either!"

"It was Hotchner who said we act as if the victim is alive until there is evidence to the contrary," he said, "And there has been no such evidence."

"You do not have to join us, Garcia."

"Of course I want to!" she said.

"If we get caught, we're for the chop." Morgan said. "Are you sure?"

"How many people did those two stick their necks out for?" Garcia said, echoing Morgan's own rationale. "I'll do whatever is needed."

Morgan smiled. "That's my Baby Girl."

"Ok," Dave said. "Here's what we've got."

And handed Garcia a file.

-0-0-0-

Aaron regained consciousness slumped in the shower. He coughed blood and dirty water into the shower tray as his lungs expelled the water that had almost drowned him. He vomited ans felt bones move that had no right to, and he held his chest as he threw up again and again. The cold water pounding his skin made him shiver uncontrollably and he felt dirty and distressed. The man with one eye had raped him, beaten him then almost drowned him, and he knew it wouldn't be over until he was dead.

The man with one eye...he should know his name, he was familiar.

His one hope was Reid. He had no doubt that these UnSubs were going to kill him. The question was whether Reid would get help in time or not.

Hotchner's hands were shaking as he tried to reach up to the tap, but it was too high and he couldn't stretch his body. So painfully and slowly he crawled out of the shower and across the room to his bed. He didn't have the strength to get on the bed so he curled up on the floor beside it and listened to the rain on the window. Now he knew his name he tried to remember other things, but his brain would only think about the pain he was in. He needed the comfort of the mattress, so he carefully pulled it off the bed and climbed onto it. The sheet tied around him was wet and dirty but it gave him a small feeling of modesty and security, so he kept it.

He was getting flashes of a child, a little boy. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the images – happy sunny days in a big garden with his son...he needed a name.

Tears pushed their way through his closed eye lids as he searched his brain for the answer, and he realised that those images were of past times, and would not happen any more.

Hotchner cried himself to sleep, each ragged breath sending new waves of pain through him; not the soft gentle waves of a still calm sea, bur the smashing waves of a storm...

-0-0-0-

Spencer Reid woke up in pain and shivering on the damp blood stained mattress. His right arm was devoid of feeling and he opened his eyes slowly.

His memory was a blur but he could remember the terror of trying to climb down the wall, and the awful knowledge that he was going to fall.

And the shot to the shoulder. Not enough to kill, but enough to stop him trying to climb out of the window again. So they didn't want him dead. So why did they want him alive? What plans had they for him?

His mind went back to Aaron, held somewhere in this god forsaken house. What ever plans they had for him, that surely involved Hotch.

The door opened and the one eyed man entered with another man. Without saying a word they pulled him to his feet and dragged him from the room.

He could remember the one eyed man's name. Mason Lowe.

Things came back to him is small flashes while he was walked to another part of the house.

They had been on a light plane flying from Nevada. He remembered blood in the plane.

Hotch had been hurt, and he had shot at Lowe, but the plane had gone down.

His genius mind reached out for these snippets of memory and hung on to them. The picture was building now.

A door opened and he was pushed in. He lost his footing and yelped in pain as he landed on his right side. He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to control the pain. They snapped open when he heard the sound of a gun cock.

The gun was at his head.

"You will screw the filthy creature in front of you now or I will blow your brains to kingdom come." Lowe hissed, but with a gleeful smile.

"You may blow my brains where ever the hell you wish but I will not do it again." Reid said.

The gun was removed from his head. "I thought you might say that."

He pulled Hotch's arm out from his curled up body. He stood on his wrist and pointed the gun at the palm of his hand.

"At this distance, his hand will be removed. The choice is yours. I will enjoy both equally."

_Oh please, not again. Hotch I am so sorry... I am so sorry, please, please forgive me..._

Spencer crawled to his friend who was still lying on the mattress. His dark eyes were wide and tearful as he stared at Reid. Spencer knelt astride his hips and leaned down as if to kiss him.

"Forgive me, please, Hotch. I am so sorry..."

"Get on with it!"

Spencer gently stroked Aaron's blackened skin, and made love to him.

-0-0-0-

Gentleness and love was not something that Mason Lowe wanted to see and the soft moans of the injured men riled him. He grabbed Reid by the hair and pulled him away.

"Like this!" he screamed, and tore into Hotch and raped him violently. The screams of pain made Reid cry quietly.

"Please don't. You are going to kill him." Reid begged, but Lowe wasn't listening. The other two men held Reid, while their friend raped Hotch. When he had finished, he knelt back on the legs of the unconscious man with a self satisfied smirk.

Reid struggled to get away. "Why are you doing this?" he shouted.

"Because I can." He said. "And because of this!" He pointed to his missing eye. "This is his fault." And to emphasize his words, he lifted Aaron's head by a handful of hair and pressed his face into the mattress. There was no reaction from Hotch.

"Don't! You're killing him!" cried Spencer.

"He is mine to kill." Lowe said. "But I'm not ready to do that yet. I intend to have more fun first before he dies for disfiguring me." He stood up. "Get him out of here."

The two silent men marched Reid back to his room, Leaving Aaron to the mercy of Lowe.

-0-0-0-

Spencer lay on the bed in agony. His shoulder was bleeding heavily and his right arm was tingling. It felt as if needles were stabbing at him and he couldn't stop it. He thought that the bullet was touching a nerve, and movement might free it, but it hurt too much to move. He tried distraction.

Now the only way out was the door. Now he was certain that Lowe meant to kill Hotch, he had to try again.

He had to overpower one of the men to get out. He couldn't do that without a weapon. The only thing in the room was the bed. Alternatively he could pick the lock. But what with?

Some thing was digging into him, and he had an idea.

Curling around the bedspring, he carefully and awkwardly twisted the broken spring from the mattress. He pulled the piece of metal out of the mattress and looked at it. This was going to get him out of here. And Hotch. He gripped the piece of coiled metal in his hand and feigned sleep. He would do this tonight.

-0-0-0-

Aaron just wanted to die. Reid was still here. His hope and his future had gone and now all he had to look forward to was torture and death.

Things were out of his control and he needed to get it back again. He began to plan his death. He would take the pleasure out of the one eyed man's life. His would be the control. He would die when he wanted.

He smiled for the first time in a long time as he thought of a way to kill himself.

-0-0-0-

Morgan had the pictures of the crash site spread out on Dave's desk. Garcia was looking at them through a magnifying glass.

"So what do you think made that sand formation?" Morgan asked her.

"Well, it is windy in the desert; I should imagine it was the wind." She said. "But it is going the wrong way. Wait a minute."

She checked the picture, and the one showing foot prints, then back again.

"A helicopter!" breathed Garcia. "That's how they got them out! They didn't wander off! Of course they didn't. It's not protocol." She looked at Morgan with a huge smile. "

"Perfect! I can get a list of people who own one and who had one hired on that day, and also people with a helicopter pilot's licence because it would need to be self fly."

"The pilot need not have had a licence, but just knows how to fly." Dave said.

"That will be thousands." Morgan sighed.

"Well it's better than millions, which is what we have."

"And we can narrow it down to known associates. I'll get onto it now." Garcia straightened and rubbed her back.

"Remember!" Dave said.

"Discretion!" she answered, and ran off to her bunker.

After the door closed, Morgan sighed. "The thing is, we know who the UnSub is. We just don't know where he is."

"That's true, but if we find the helicopter, we might be able to narrow the search field."

"Dave, are we looking for bodies? It's been thirteen weeks now. Reid's replacement starts tomorrow and the morale is rock bottom."

"I don't envy the poor guy." Dave said. "Reid is a hard act to follow. And no, we are not looking for bodies. John Abele's position is temporary as far as I am concerned."

"Should we tell Emily and JJ? Emily was having a relationship with Aaron. Should we tell her we are still looking?"

"No. Her job would be on the line, and as yet she can not contribute anything extra." Dave said. "If it should become necessary, then we tell her. And only then."

-0-0-0-

Hotchner tore the cover off the mattress and turned the mattress over to hide what he had done. Then he tore the cover into strips. Every movement hurt but soon the pain would be gone forever. The child he kept seeing was his son, Jacky. He wanted to write to Jacky, tell the little boy how much he loved him, and say sorry that he couldn't be around to see him grow. The thought of his child brought tears to his eyes, and they stung his open wounds on his injured nose and lips. He twisted the fabric together and formed a short rope. He looked around for something to tie it to. Slowly, inch by agonised inch, he dragged himself to the shower.


	6. Dinner Invitation

**MIA MISSING IN ACTION  
**Chapter 6  
Dinner Invitation

"_**The only man who is really free is the one who can turn down an **__**invitation**__** to dinner without giving any excuse**__**" - Jules Renard **_

Spencer pretended to be asleep. This had to be timed just right – too early and the UnSubs would still be around. Too late and there wouldn't be enough time.

It had been dark for about two hours when he rolled off the bed and went to the door. He had to use his left hand which made it awkward, but he was almost as dextrous with his left as with his right, and he knelt by the door in the cold darkness and worked on the lock.

He had never picked a lock before although he knew how to do it. But once again he was reminded that actually doing something is totally different from reading about it.

It was a long time before the bolt clicked back. He froze at the sound which seemed to echo into every corner. He waited crouched in the darkness for several minutes before he pushed open the door. Silently he peered out and looked for any sign of lights or torches, but the house was in darkness, and was utterly silent.

He let the door swing back and touched it with the tips of his fingers to stop it from banging. He knew the way to Hotch, and decided to go and tell him not to give up but that he was going to get help. He might even take him along.

Crouching low, wishing he had a gun, he scurried along the passage ways towards Hotch.

-0-0-0-

He tested the strength of the rope he had made, then wondered how he was going to get high enough to make this work. He looked up at the shower curtain rail. If he could just reach it.

He sat on the floor and tied the one end into a small loop, the other into a noose. Then, with immense care, he pulled himself to his feet. He put one arm around the rail that formed the corner of the shower cubicle. He could stand like this for a few seconds without falling. He swung the end over the curtain rail and threaded the noose through the small loop and pulled it tight. With one arm around the rail he lifted the noose around his neck and let go with his arm. His legs no longer took his weight, and he felt the knot dig into his skin just below his ear.

He closed his eyes as the life was slowly choked out of him. It was slow and agonising as the rope cut under his chin and forced his head sideways. Tears fell from his eyes as in his heart he said good bye to Jacky and Spencer, and still he hung there alive and in dreadful pain. He choked and gagged and at last his vision of the filthy room faded and the pain floated away like a cloud and nothing...

-0-0-0-

As Reid padded silently through the house, he checked some of the other rooms as he passed them. Some contained furniture that was covered in cloths but most were empty. Everywhere was quiet except for the creaking of the old house and the wind wrapping itself around the outside of the house. It seemed further to Hotch than it had been during the day, but then he wasn't creeping and taking his time; he was being dragged.

He reached the door and tried it. It was locked of course. He had pushed the piece of spring in his hair just in case he was caught with it, as he didn't want to give it up. He knelt in front of Hotch's door and began to pick the lock.

It seemed to take forever to do, but eventually the bolt sprung back. He pushed the door open wide enough for him to slip in and he quickly closed it behind him. He leaned heavily against the door and breathed heavily with relief. He had got this far without being seen.

A beam of moonlight cut through the room and across Hotch's bed, but there was no one lying on it. The mattress was on the floor, but Hotch was not there.

_Oh please don't let me be too late, please don't say they've killed you!_

Or maybe they have just moved him.

He was turning to leave when he heard a sound from the shower room.

_Oh no Hotch! Not that!_

He ran quickly to the alcove, and saw Hotch hanging from the rail. His eyes were wide open and stared down at him. His arms hung limply by his side. His bare feet were touching the tiled floor and his knees were bent. Reid took his weight and tried to undo the knot in the rope, but he couldn't do it. His fingers were numb and his arm wasn't working properly. He stood there holding Hotch wondering how on earth he was going to do this. He reached up and pulled on the curtain rail and added his weight to Hotch's. There was a loud crack and the rail broke. The two men fell onto the floor, Reid still holding Hotch around the waist.

The fall winded Reid and for a second he couldn't move. His arm had sudden feeling back; feeling that he'd rather not have. As soon as he could move, he pulled the noose over Hotch's head and tried to find some life signs.

He couldn't find any.

He was warm, but no pulse, no heart beat, no breath.

He knelt astride Hotchner's dead body and compressed his chest with both hands. Each compression, Reid could feel Hotch's ribs move, and his right shoulder shot pain through him. He tried to ignore it. He couldn't stop what he was doing because Aaron would die.

If it wasn't already too late.

"Please... Hotch... breathe... for... me." He repeated it like a mantra in the rhythm of his compressions, his tears of grief splashing onto his scarred chest.

How long had he been hanging? The room was cold, and despite the wet sarong, his body was warm.

Reid realised that he was shouting at Hotch, yelling at his body... he knelt back and pressed his fists to his face and cried.

"Why did you do it, Aaron. I told you I'd get you out! Why, why why?" Reid cried, his hands wet with tears and the grief overwhelming him. He lowered his head onto Hotch's chest and hugged him.

"I am so sorry, Aaron. I was too late to save you."

He sat beside him and rocked him, burying his face in Hotch's hair.

It was then he thought he felt something. A vague fluttering heartbeat.

Instantly, Reid laid him down again and listened at his chest. There was a heart beat. No breath, but his heart was beating now.

He knelt by his head and gently holding Hotch's bloody nose, he sealed his own mouth over Aaron's and breathed into his lungs. He watched as his chest rose and fell. He repeated it, and again and again when suddenly Hotch took over and breathed on his own.

Carefully with shaking hands, he carried Hotch over to the bed and laid him down. He touched the livid line that ran in a jagged circle around his pale neck. He looked thin and wasted lying there in the dirty sarong.

"I can't take you with me, Hotch, and I have to go now. Please understand. I will get you out of here, or die trying." He turned him onto his side, and kissed him.

"I need to go. But I promise I will be back for you."

With tears in his eyes and a feeling of near despair, he left the room and crept along the corridor. He didn't want to leave him. But if he was going to save him he needed to go now. He wondered how long he had been without food. He could remember Hotch using crutches, now he could barely stand. What were they doing to him? And why?

He heard someone coming, and he ducked into one of the rooms. This one was furnished and he crouched behind one of the covered chairs. He heard snippets of conversation as two men walked by. But nothing made sense. He tried to remember what he was hearing; something about Hotch not being responsible for the loss of his eye, and that it was another Fed who did it. He blamed Hotch because he was unit chief, and as such is responsible for what happens.

Reid felt sick. They were starving Hotch to death and torturing him for something he didn't do.

_Mason Lowe is a psychopath!_

Reid wanted to go back to Hotch and for a moment he almost did.

But he had to escape.

He crept out of his hiding place under the dust sheet and went back out into the corridor. He turned the opposite way to Hotchner.

-0-0-0-

"Hey did you leave this door unlocked?"

"Of course I didn't!"

"It might have been Lowe." He pushed the door open and saw Hotch on the bed. "Just keep it quiet. There's no need to mention it."

The other man nodded. "Hey this guy is unconscious."

"Well, wake him up. Lowe wants him in his lounge."

He pulled Hotch up and smacked his face. Blood shot out of his mouth in a curve of scarlet and hit the wall. Hotch moaned softly.

"You're going on a trip, Sunshine."

They each took an arm and pulled him from his bed and out of the room. He moaned as they dragged him along, his bare feet being cut and splintered by the rough wooden floor, leaving a bloody trail through the passages of the big old house.

Again Spencer hid as he heard people approach. He peered un der the dust sheet to see what was happening and he was sickened by what he saw, as the men pulled Hotch along between them. He could do nothing to save him.

He left his hiding place again and followed the men at a distance, following the bloody trail through the house.

-0-0-0-

Aaron was just coming round when he heard someone coming into his room. He thought he should be dead, and for a moment he thought that he was.

But then he opened his eyes and realised that he'd been cut down and placed on the bed. And the terrible pain was till there.

He let out a ragged sigh as someone hit him in the face again, and pulled him off the bed and out of the room. For a moment he hoped that they were going to let him go, but as they dragged him along, he abandoned the idea.

Huge double doors were opened, and he was thrown into a room.

He lifted his head and looked into the room in shock. There was a table in the middle of the room with three place settings. There was food on the table, and Hotch's mouth watered.

Suddenly he was pulled upright and his hands tied together with flexi cuffs. These in turn were attached to a hook hanging from the ceiling. His head was pulled up so that he was looking straight ahead. All his weight was on his wrists, although his feet were on the floor, his weak legs could no longer take the weight.

Lowe was sitting at the table, and his companions joined him.

"How nice of you," Lowe said, "To join us for dinner. What a pity you cannot eat anything. Far too rich for you, Agent Hotchner. But at least you can see it with two eyes!"

Lowe ladled himself and his companions some soup from a tureen on the table, and he broke some bread and dipped it in the soup.

"Why don't you just kill me?" Hotch said. "Why do you have to torture me? What have I done to you?"

"Shut the hell up, Agent Hotchner." Lowe hissed. He nodded to one of his men who left the table and hit Aaron with the back of his hand. Aaron's head rocked to the side, and fell forward.

"You don't speak, scum. You watch."

But Aaron had fainted, and could do nothing.


	7. A Second Climb

**MIA MISSING IN ACTION  
**Chapter 7  
A Second Climb

"_**I think dogs are the most amazing creatures; they give unconditional love. For me they are the role model for being alive." Gilda Radner **_

Spencer followed the dark smears of blood which Aaron had left along the dark passage ways. He really didn't know what he was going to do when he caught up with them. He couldn't let them know that he had escaped, and yet he couldn't leave Hotch at the mercy of these psychopaths. He was being starved and beaten and raped. He couldn't imagine what else they could do to him. When the trail disappeared behind huge double doors, Spencer could go no further. Standing at the edge of the door, with a hiding place in view in case someone came, he crouched in the shadows and listened. As the picture on the other side of the door gradually built up, Spencer felt sick at the cruelty of the men. He heard a cry as Aaron was assaulted, and Spencer's hand was on the door handle and he almost ran into the room.

_I cannot help you, Hotch. Please, keep strong until I get help for you..._

And Reid had tears in his eyes as he moved away from the door to find a way out.

-0-0-0-

"Wake him. Harry" Lowe said. "There's little point in having him hanging there is he's going to sleep through dinner."

One of the men eating with Lowe went to Aaron, and back handed him across the face. This time it was harder to waken him. He grabbed his hair and lifted his bloodied face to look towards the diners. He picked up a jug of water from the table and threw it in his face. Slowly Hotch opened his eyes and stared at his assailant.

"I am sorry... I didn't mean... to be rude ...so tired." He tried to sound defiant but all it did was make the men laugh.

"Shut him up. I want him awake, not speaking."

The man picked up a chair and swung it at Hotch, smashing it across the small of his back. Hotch sucked in a breath between his teeth and arched his back. He swung slowly back and forth from the chain on the ceiling, and bent forwards, and vomited onto the floor clots of blood and green bitter fluid. He coughed painfully, and vomited again. It splashed onto the floor and into his sarong and Harry's shoes. Harry looked down in disgust.

Lowe was incensed.

"I am trying to eat here, you filthy creature!" he yelled, wiping pork fat off his chin. "Sort him out, Waylon!"

The man named Waylon left his seat with a roll of tape which he wound around Aaron's head a few times, covering his mouth. Aaron struggled to breathe through his smashed nose, wide eyed with desperation. He took careful shallow breaths, wondering why he was so desperate to hang on to this miserable life.

-0-0-0-

Garcia Dave and Morgan were using their mobile phones to talk about the unofficial search. Morgan had the dubious honour of showing Abele around the bull pen. When Morgan's phone rang, he knew that Dave wanted a meeting.

"I really didn't want this job under these circumstances." Abele said. "Reid was a bit of a legend, and I don't think I can ever replace him."

"You are not here as Reid's replacement, John. It would be wrong to think you are. You have your own unique way of seeing things, as Reid did. You will contribute from your experiences, which are exclusive to you. Just as you cannot replace Agent Reid, neither can anyone replace you. Everyone brings themselves to a situation, and that is all that is asked of you here."

Abele smiled a shaky smile. "Thank you Sir."

"And that's Morgan, Derek, or 'Your Royal Highness'. Never Sir."

Abele visibly relaxed.

"Now I'll introduce you to the Boss Man, David Rossi." And Morgan led Abele up the steps out of the bull pen.

Dave called them in, and stood and shook Abele's hand. "Ah John, it's good to see you here. We're actually two men down, so we are glad to have you."

"Thank you Sir, I am happy to be part of the team, I just wish I could have joined under happier circumstances."

"I understand, but there are rarely happy reasons for there to be a vacancy in the BAU. Of the last four vacancies, one of which I myself filled, two are through the death of a colleague, and two due to emotional breakdown. The turn over is very high. I am sure though that you have been through this when you took the psych exam."

"Yes Sir, I did. I hope I can uphold the challenge."

Rossi smiled tightly. "Derek, if you could show John where he is to work, and then come back up here. I have something to show you. And have Garcia join us." And by way of dismissal, Dave shuffled some papers on his desk. Morgan inclined his head and led Abele out of the office.

When the door closed Dave took the folder out of his top drawer. Garcia said she had something to report, and Dave was looking forward to hearing it. Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door, and Garcia and Morgan entered, and sat down at the desk opposite Dave. Dave brought his chair round and sat on the same side of the desk as the other two.

"What have you got, Penelope."

Garcia smiled and unfolded a map onto Dave's desk. It was already marked up.

"A helicopter was rented from here," she pointed to the map. "And it was brought back intact two days later. It hadn't been refuelled, and the tank was almost empty on its return."

"So we know how much fuel was used." Morgan said excitedly.

"Yes. Now taking the helicopter to the crash site and back would use most of the fuel, and the remainder would take it in this circle," Again she pointed to the map. This time to an eccentric circle she had drawn around the crash site, "So the place where the helicopter took them is likely to be in this circle, most likely at the edge."

"That is excellent work, Garcia. So what makes you think that this is our helicopter?" Dave said.

"Because it was rented on false papers. It was the only suspect rental for the period in question. And no names match." She beamed at her co-conspirators. "How cool am I?"

"That's my Baby Girl." smiled Morgan.

"That's a huge break through." Dave said. "Derek, You and I will be going there tomorrow. It's Saturday and there are no cases on."

"Sir, I'd..."

"No Garcia. You are not cleared for the field. You are far more useful in front of your computers. Derek? Is that ok with you? It is not an order; it is voluntary."

"Let's go find our men!"

-0-0-0-

Knowing that the three men were all occupied with Hotch meant that Reid didn't have to be so careful searching for a way out. He was still on the first floor, and he ran down the first flight of stairs he found. The stairs were narrow and closed in n either side, and opened up into a disused kitchen. He knew there was normally a way out from the kitchen into a garden. A few minutes of searching, and the back door was in front of him.

He opened the door and ran.

The clanging alarm stopped him in his tracks. He turned around and looked up at the house. The alarm bells seemed to shake the very ground he stood on. He had no idea which way to run, or if there was a fence around the compound. He did the only thing he could, and that was to carry on running away from the house.

The ground was sandy with tufts of grass which tried to trip him at every step. Ahead he could see a tall fence. He turned to the right and ran parallel, hoping to come to a place where it would be easier to get over it. Maybe amongst trees where it wasn't so exposed.

To his horror, he heard Dogs barking in the distance...

_Oh please no! Not dogs!_

Spencer felt his heart in his mouth as the sounds of the dogs got closer. He tried to run faster, but the combination of hunger and thirst made him weak and slow. He saw the first dog run round the corner of the house and run towards him. In sheer blind panic he ran to the fence and tried to climb it. He clung to the fence as one of the dogs sank its teeth into his leg. He screamed in terror and fell back off the fence onto the sandy ground. He tried to push the creature off hitting at the dog which began to shake its head and tear at Reid's unprotected leg. He leaned back and his hand came in contact with a rock. He swung it at the dog, smacking it on the side of the head. With a yelp and a whine, it released his leg and lay down whimpering and pawing at the bleeding gash.

Not quite believing it had released him, Reid picked up the rock and shakily stood up. Briefly he looked at the damage to his leg, and he thought it was pretty bad. There was blood running down his calf already forming a puddle in the sand. He watched for a second as the sand sucked his blood away. He realised that the pain and shock was making him act irrationally, and he continued his run around the perimeter, only this time, he was limping and the deep puncture wounds on his calf left an easy to follow blood trail.

More dogs could be heard, and he knew he would not be so lucky again. He went to the fence and tried to climb it. Normally it would not have presented a problem, but with a gunshot wound to the shoulder, giving him a numb arm, and the savaged leg, climbing the fence was nigh on impossible. He thought about Aaron. The torture and starvation. He had to do it, or as he had said to Hotch, die trying.

The fence was about ten feet high. He forced his foot into the mesh and pulled himself up with his left hand. His second foot he pushed into the mesh. He felt he was making slow going when two more dogs snapped at his ankles. He screamed and scrabbled the last three feet, and rolled his body over the top.

Hanging there on the other side of the fence, he panicked as he heard voices shout, "There he is!" and the sound of a gun cock.

He tried to find a foot hold, and his mind went back to the abortive climb down the wall. He thought this time they would just shoot to kill. His heart was beating too fast as the dogs leaped at him on the other side of the fence, and he let go, and fell the last few feet and rolled into the undergrowth. Bullets tore past him as he crouched in the bushes and the sound of barking dogs, gunshots and men shouting filled all his senses. He ran into the sorry looking trees that surrounded the house, and crawled under the exposed roots that offered a hiding place. He couldn't be seen, but if the dogs were let out, he wouldn't have a chance. But he wouldn't have a chance running either, so he crawled in as deep as he could, wrapped his arms over his head, and hoped Hotch would be able to hold on just a little longer.

-0-0-0-

Aaron was hanging in the dining room alone. He guessed why the dogs were out. He could hear them snarling and barking. As soon as the alarm had sounded, the three of them had left their meal and gone to deal with it.

Reid was getting away. Hotch prayed that he would make it.


	8. The Eye

**MIA MISSING IN ACTION  
**Chapter 8  
The Eye

_**Mahatma Gandhi said, "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."**_

After a while Spencer realised that they were not sending the dogs after him. He thought they might wait until morning, as it was only an hour or two before dawn.

He wondered at the twisted minds of these men that they were eating in the night just so that they could torture Hotch when he is at his weakest.

He crawled out of his hiding place and sat with his back against the tree trunk, and looked back towards the house. He thought of Hotch and how he had left him behind. He was in a bad way; so bad that he had seen killing himself as the only option left open to him

_Hold on, Hotch, I'll get help for you. Please, just hold on!_

-0-0-0-

Hotch was feeling dizzy. He hadn't eaten for days, and he had a raging thirst. His breathing was coming in harsh bubbly breaths, and he kept being sick, and losing precious fluids and electrolytes. He watched the three men come back into the room, and put the remaining food into the dogs' bowls. They leaned back in their seats and lit cigarettes.

"Seems your friend didn't want to stay with us." Lowe said. "We will catch him in the morning. He won't escape. No one will ever find you."

"Maybe your gnawed bones in years to come, after animals have scavenged what we leave of you." Waylon said. "Which won't be much."

Lowe left his seat and went up to Aaron.

"Now you pay for what you did." He said, and ripped the tape from Aaron's mouth. Blood ran down his chin and dripped onto his chest.

"So what's next?" he whispered.

"This!" Lowe said and pressed the burning end of his cigarette onto his soft skin under his chin. He tried to pull away but he was at the mercy of Lowe. The new pain made his eyes water, but he didn't cry out. He was determined to deny him that pleasure.

Lowe beckoned Harry and Waylon over. They both knew what was coming next. Waylon stood behind Hotch and held his head still by grabbing a handful of hair. Lowe put his face close to Aaron.

"You and your kind," he said, "Took my eye. When the plane went down and you were still alive, that was when I decided that you would suffer for what you did."

"But I didn't hurt you." Hotch answered in a soft whisper. "I don't know you."

"You were going to have me put away for crimes I committed, yet the one who disfigured me walks around free. You carry the guilt of that one, and as such you will suffer for it."

Lowe sucked the cigarette and the end glowed redly. As Waylon held his head still, Lowe pressed the burning end into Aaron's dark and beautiful eye. Hotch screamed this time, unable to take it without crying out, he smelled the burning and heard the hissing sound of his eye ball being destroyed. His terrible screams echoed around the house and compound.

"An eye for an eye." Harry said. "Never let it be said that we don't play fair!"

Lowe removed the cigarette. The ugly burnt mess was left of that which was once Hotch's eye. He was still crying and tears rolled down his cheeks as his tears tried to counteract what had just been done. The pain was dreadful and although Hotch had determined to brave it out and not show weakness, he fainted with the excruciating agony as he hung there helplessly in front of his captors.

-0-0-0-

The scream was heard outside the house and it sent shivers through Reid. What were they doing to him? He wanted to run back and drag them off him, but the best help he could give would be to get help.

He turned away from the house and stumbled through the trees. He just needed to find some one to call the police, and get Hotch out. It was slow going. He was losing a lot of blood from his leg. The bite was deep and the muscle was torn through and the skin was flapping as he tried to run. The sun was coming up, and he thought he heard the dogs in the distance.

He splashed through mud and a dried up river bed and along a ridge.

The snarls of the dogs were getting closer, and he tried to put some distance between them. He stopped at one point and leaned on a tree to catch his breath. His leg was throbbing pain and he reached down and touched the sticky drying blood on his leg. The dogs were getting closer now; he could hear their thick panting and his own heart beating.

He continued on his faltering way through the trees, wondering how far he'd come, and what was happening to Hotch.

-0-0-0-

Fran was late home, or she would never have been taking the road she was on. Hugh had forbidden her to drive home this way. But she had no intention of telling him. Since the girls had married and left home he had become way too bossy and although she still loved him, she was becoming tired of his suffocating possessiveness. She was remembering their first date when the thing ran out in front of her.

She hit it. It bounced off the bonnet and rolled into the road and didn't move. Her car slewed across the road as she swerved too late. She stopped and looked behind her, shaking hands gripping the wheel, hoping it was an animal or something.

"Oh hell!" she whispered when she realised that it was a man lying in the road. She reversed back up the road until she was next to him. Covered in blood and unkempt and dirty. His eyes were closed and his arms were thrown wide. He was wearing a hospital gown and she tried to think if there was a hospital near by, but she didn't think there was.

She could see he had a badly injured leg, which was still bleeding onto the cracked tarmac of the road. She thought she could remember reading somewhere that bleeding stopped when someone died, so if this was a good memory, then the man was still alive. She hoped he was. Even though it wasn't her fault she felt responsible. Her hands were shaking as she thought that she was going to have to get out and put him in her car and take him into town to the hospital.

Now Hugh was going to find out.

"Crap!" she said again as she got out of her car and open the back door. Carefully she picked up the man and slid him across onto the back seat. He was so light, he felt like a child, but the beard growth told her he wasn't. He was very thin and sick looking, and she hoped he wasn't carrying anything.

She had read way too many Robin Cook novels!

She used the seat belts to secure him to the seat, and got back in the front. Thoughts of her husband were gone from her mind now, and she just thought of getting this man to the hospital before he died.

A man stood at the edge of the road with his hands on the collars of two dogs and watched as she drove off.

-0-0-0-

There were literally hundreds of places that could have been used to imprison their men for all these weeks. It was difficult to know where to start. Dave had been in touch with the police department asking for their assistance, which they were glad to give. A list of recent John Does that had turned up in the last three months in the local hospitals was available, and he and Morgan were now at the main morgue, looking through the list and the photographs to see if any were Hotch of Reid. There were quite a few, and most could be dismissed easily. But some had been in the water for a while and even skin colour was hard to tell on some.

"Four possibles." Dave said, fanning out the pictures in front of them.

"That guy was black." Police Sergeant Wright said. "I can remember him because we thought it was someone we were looking for."

"Right that leaves three."

"Well two of them are still here." Wright said. "Do you want to see them?"

Dave and Morgan stood up. "Yes if we could, then we can eliminate these two, leaving only one."

Wright, a tall thin grey man in his forties led them down stairs into the basement where the morgue was. Not for the first time, Dave wondered why the morgue was almost always in the basement. As if it wasn't grim enough without adding to it by shutting out all daylight.

One at a time, the two drawers were opened, and Dave and Morgan were able to say with relief, "No, he's not our man."

-0-0-0-

"An eye for an eye...and a tooth for a tooth." Waylon said. Lowe smiled and showed Hotchner the pliers. It wasn't easy keeping him conscious. A thick liquid trickled down his cheek from his seared eye, washed with tears.

"Hold his head back." Lowe said to Waylon and gripped Hotchner's back tooth with the pliers. Hotch moaned in pain as Lowe twisted the tooth until it cracked. He tried to get it and pull it from his jaw, but he gripped too tightly and the tooth smashed and the pain clutched at him and again he fainted as his body attempted to save his mind from insanity.

Harry came into the room, the dogs with him.

"Well? Did you bring him back?"

"Sorry, Mason. He ran out onto the road and got hit by a car. The driver took him away." Harry said. "I doubt he'll make it though."

"Let's hope not. I don't want to go to the hospital to finish him off." Lowe said. "Cut Hotchner down. I think he's not going to last too much longer, and I want us to make the most of what little he has left."

Harry sliced through the flexi cuffs that held Hotch onto the chain, and the beaten half dead man crumpled onto the floor at their feet. A trickle of fresh blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and his skin was white against the almost black of the blood,

Lowe knelt down next to him. He pulled his legs straight and was about to turn him onto his front when Hotchner looked at him with his seeing eye. The look cut deep into Lowe, the intensity and clarity of the look almost hurt. Infuriated, Lowe smacked Hotchner's face and turned his body over. Pushing the sarong out of the way, and undoing his own clothes, he violently raped Hotchner again, gripping his shoulders and forcing himself into the unconscious man. Hotch made no sound as Lowe collapsed on the floor beside him, Blood flowing and running in rivers across Hotchner's white skin. Lowe made the way for the other two to rape him. Waylon bit and scratched at Hotch as he took what he wanted from the helpless man. Then Harry did the same. When they had finished, they kicked him into the corner and went back to their meal.

They thought he would probably die there in the corner of the room, bleed out or die of shock. All three were amazed at the resilience of the man. They didn't expect him to last this long, particularly since he had spent three months with them tied to a chair and fed only on bread. But he was strong and determined, and they were surprised that it had taken this long to break him.

The three of them carried on eating, and pushed thoughts of Agent Aaron Hotchner to the backs of their minds.


	9. John Doe

**MIA – MISING IN ACTION  
**Chapter 9  
John Doe

"_**I learned that it is the weak who are cruel, and that gentleness is to be expected only from the strong." - **__**Leo Rosten**___

Dave sat at the desk in Andrew Wright's office with his head in his hands. He really didn't know where to go from here. Morgan sat by the window, the case file on his lap forgotten as he stared out into the mid morning drizzle without actually seeing it.

"So what do we do next?" Morgan said. "Seems we've hit the brick wall."

Dave rubbed his eyes and looked up. "I don't know." He said. "We need to search all the places on Garcia's list."

"There are hundreds. We need to shorten the list." Morgan got out his mobile. "I'll see if Garcia can do anything."

Before he could dial, Andrew came into his office. "I've had the hospital on the phone." He said. "They have a new John Doe, but this one is alive. "

Dave stood. "We need to see him."

Andrew handed him a grainy fax. "This is him. I asked for a picture."

"Nice one, excellent!"

Dave took the picture; Morgan stood behind him and looked over his shoulder.

"Oh my god!" Morgan breathed. "It's Reid!"

"Thinner, if that is possible, but it's him alright." Dave said. He looked up at Andrew"We need a car."

"I can't let you have one of our cars if you are off the clock." Andrew said. "But you can take mine." And he threw Dave his keys, "It's the old green Station Wagon in the front of the car park."

Dave smiled, snatching the keys out of the air. "Thank you." Was all he said, and they were out of the office before he could say anything else.

Reid was in the emergency room still when Dave and Morgan arrived. He was unconscious in a cubicle, waiting for a bed. Dave stared at him in shock.

"Are you alright Sir?" the doctor asked.

"Erm... yes I'm fine. I just can hardly believe it." Dave answered. "This man has been missing for over three months. What happened?"

The doctor indicated a woman of about fifty sitting in the waiting room. "Seems he ran out in front of her car. She brought him straight here.

"How bad?" Morgan asked.

"He has severe malnutrition and he is dehydrated. He has a gun shot wound to the right shoulder, and his leg has been severely bitten, we think by a dog. Both legs were broken when he was struck by the car. We have started him on Rabies shots, and he is on a drip to give him water and glucose. He is going to need theatre to fix the bitten leg, and to set his tibs. But the prognosis is good."

"Can we talk to him?" Dave asked, his hand on his ID in case they said no. But the doctor said yes. He and Morgan entered the cubicle with the doctor. "Can you wake him up? It is essential that we speak to him."

"I am sorry. I can't do that. He is badly hurt and is in shock. He could die if we try to wake him up."

Dave was torn. He needed to know where Hotch was, but he couldn't risk Reid's life any more. He took Reid's hand.

"What do you know, Reid? Where's Hotch? Wake up and tell us, please."

Morgan said, "I'll find a book and read to him. That might waken him."

"I'll go and speak to the woman who brought him in."

Dave went out of the cubicle, and crossed the waiting room to where the woman was sitting.

"Firstly I would like to thank you for bringing him in." Dave said. "I know how dangerous a thing it is to be stopped out on the road at night. It was a brave thing you did."

"Well I couldn't leave him on the road, could I?"

"Some would have " Dave said. "He is actually an FBI Agent who has been missing for three months. The thing is, he was with another agent when he went missing, and we need to find him too."

"That man was the only one there." The woman answered.

"If you could show us on the map exactly where you came across him, we can work from there."

He unfolded a map of the area, and she pointed to a bend in the road. "It was here. I had just slowed for the bend in the road when he ran out into me. If I hadn't slowed for the bend, I would probably killed him," She said. "Is he going to be ok?"

"He's very ill at the moment, but the doctors are hopeful that he will recover." Dave said, shaking her hand. "Please, may I have your name and address before you go, in case we have any more questions?"

Smiling, she jotted down the information Dave needed, and her phone number, and gave it to him.

"I'll help as much as I can." She said.

Dave went back to Reid where Morgan was reading to him. Morgan stopped reading.

"No response yet." He said.

Dave held up the map. "We've got somewhere to look, Derek. You coming?"

-0-0-0-

Aaron Hotchner was lying in a bloody puddle in the corner of the room. The pain from his burnt eye was unbelievable. He tried to close his eye lids but movement of any kind, anything touching his eye, even his eye lid, sent shockwaves through him. He cried out in a soft whisper, as thick liquid ran from his eye socket. All the other injuries faded from his senses under the onslaught of the burn to his eye. His mouth hurt where his tooth had been smashed but that was nothing next to the eye injury.

He moved his hand to his face and thought of clawing his eye out of its socket, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it.

"Please... help... me..." he croaked, his voice dry and brittle. "Please... give me... some water."

"I thought you were dead." Lowe said. "Why do you think we would give you water? I just want you to suffer."

"You have taken... my eye now please free me."

"Get him up, Waylon. Let's have a look."

Waylon pulled the injured man to his feet and held him there by pushing his fingers into his hair and gripping. Aaron was unrecognisable as the dark handsome man that they had taken thirteen weeks before. The gash on his forehead sustained before the plane crashed was little more than a reddish scar, but his nose was badly broken, and his lips were split and blackened. Blood was smeared on his face, but by far the worst thing was the burn to his right eye; instead of the bright firey dark eyes, one was blackened and burnt, even the other had lost its fire. His chest was bruised and his back was black around his waist.

Lowe wanted to hit him, so full of hatred was he. He drew back his fist and struck him just below the breast bone. Hotch groaned, and his hands pressed against his chest in an effort to get his breath back.

"Reid... will bring you... down..." he whispered.

"Take him to his room. No food or water. I will go and finish the job at the hospital""

Aaron bowed his head as Waylon released his hair, and he and Harry dragged him from the room.

-0-0-0-

Lying on his mattress, rocking and moaning, he tried to get a picture of Jacky in his brain.

_I am sorry I won't be there for you, Jacky, but Uncle Spence will always be there, my precious son. I love you..._

Someone was hitting him about his head, as his head rocked from side to side, he vomited clots of blood and felt bones break. He had not even the strength to lift his arms to defend himself. Another pair of hands was touching him. But he was past caring.

Aaron allowed himself to pass out into sweet oblivion, and the agony disappeared.

-0-0-0-

The big sandstone house was an ugly anachronism at the edge of the Navada desert, and Morgan wondered how anyone could have designed it and thought it looked nice. The oversized porch with stucco covered pillars and the huge double doors at the top of a flight of concrete steps were... well, were ugly. The sandstone had worn away unevenly, giving the facade a mottled grey effect, and the mullions between the windows were smooth grey concrete.

"Is this definitely the right place?" he asked, looking through the fence at the monstrosity.

"There's no where else within five miles, and I doubt Reid could have gone that far on that leg." Dave said. "Come on, let's find a way in."

The two Agents drew their weapons and walked around the compound, searching for an entrance. When they found one,it wasn't a gate, just a section of fence that could be moved back. Morgan slid through the gap and held it open for his boss.

In shooting stance, crouching low, they began to circle the house, looking for an open door or window. Morgan saw the open door first.

"Looks like a kitchen door." Dave whispered. "Our way in."

They slipped through the door into the large old fashioned kitchen.

"So where do we start?" Morgan said softly. "This place is huge."

"Start at the top, work down." Dave said. "Follow me."

They soon found the narrow staircase that Reid had used, and they made their way to the next floor.

They didn't need to go higher. They heard the horrible wet sound of a fist striking bloody flesh and made their way towards the sound.

Aaron's door was open, and it only took a split second for the Agents to see what was happening. One man was hitting a bloodied and beaten man on a bed. Another was pulling at his legs, and for a sickening moment, Morgan thought he was going to rape the man.

"Get off him you bastard sons of bitches!" shouted Morgan.

Both men jumped away from their victim, and pulled guns. But they were no match for the Feds. Waylon took a bullet to the heart, Harry had his face removed.

They did not recognise the man that they had been assaulting at first, he was such a bloody mess.

Rossi and Morgan went closer to see if they knew the man.

"Oh my god. It's Aaron!" Dave whispered.

"Aaron? Are you sure?"

"Look at his face, Derek. The mole on his right cheek. The scar on his chest."

"What the hell have they done to him? Look at his eye... oh god! Is he alive?"

"I don't know. Just let us get him out of here."

Morgan covered Hotch with the sarong, and lifted him in his arms, one arm under his thighs, the other around his back, pulling him close.

"He weighs nothing. They've starved him." Morgan had tears in his eyes. "Will he recover from this? They've half killed him. He'll never get over this. And his eye... oh god!"

"I don't know if he'll recover. I'd say no, but Hotch has made it back before against all odds. Let us pray he does so again."

The two of them carried Hotch quickly down the stairs. Dave called the Las Vegas Police. There could be other captives in the house, and other UnSubs. They ran back to the Ford and Morgan gently laid Hotch on the back seat. He sat in the back also, keeping Hotch's head on his lap, trying to absorb the bumps in the road to protect Hotch.

-0-0-0-

In a hospital not too far away, a one eyed man stalked the corridors in search of Spencer Reid.

-0-0-0-

**A/N Come on, My friends, Where are you all?**


	10. The Beginning

**MIA MISSING IN ACTION  
**Chapter 10  
The Beginning

"_**Remorse for what? You people have done everything in the world to me. Doesn't that give me equal right?" - **__**Charles Manson **___

Student nurse Cathy Cox sat and stared at the monitors. There were two patients in the High Dependency Ward, and she had been left alone by the ward sister while she went for coffee. Just five minutes, and these two men's lives were in her hands. The beeping of the monitors seemed to blend in with the music that was playing.

"Excuse me?" Cathy looked up at the man. "I am Doctor Mason, Mr Reid's family physician. I have come to check on him."

Cathy had jumped when he began speaking to her. She was embarrassed. "Oh of c-course!" she stammered. "He's in the main ward. The only patient in there." He had a strange eye that didn't move as the other one did. A false eye? She made a point of not looking at it.

She pointed the way and went back to her screen watching. She suddenly remembered that she had not asked for his identification. She git up and followed him to the main ward.

Dr Mason carried on into the six bed ward, his hand in his pocket, fingering the twenty ml bottle and syringe. Reid was awake now, having come out of his coma several hours before. He stared out of the window, wondering why Rossi wasn't here. He needed to tell him about Hotch – where he was, and that time was running out for him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man in a suit. Tiredly he turned his head to greet his visitor.

"I need to..." he began, when he recognised who it was.

The man who had abducted them and tortured Hotch.

He opened his mouth to scream when Mason Lowe clamped his hand across Reid's mouth. He stared up at him with frightened eyes, his hands on the man's wrist, trying to pull his hand away.

"I said you wouldn't get away." Lowe smirked. "Pity I can't rape you here. Killing you will have to suffice."

"Hey! What are you doing?" Cathy shouted from the door. "Take your hand off him!"

She ran to him and tried to pull Lowe off Reid, and he swung a fist at her, striking her in the mouth, sending her reeling. As she fell she hit her head on the door frame and didn't get up again.

Skilfully he filled the syringe with the fluid from the bottle with one hand. He stuck the needle in the tube close to Reid's wrist and emptied the syringe into him. Reid twisted under the pressure on his face; Lowe released him.

"Any second now you will experience a sugar hypo. Not a nice way to go." Lowe smiled and ran from the room. Reid called out for help as Lowe exited the High Dependency Unit by way of the fire escape.

-0-0-0-

"Call Prentiss, Derek. Tell her we've found him, but tell her it's not good."

Morgan sighed. He left the waiting room and stood outside in the drizzle. He looked at his phone, wondering how he was going to break this news to Emily. He knew they had a relationship, and he knew it was pretty intense. Now he was going to call her and say that the man she loves was alive after all, but isn't likely to last.

How do you say that? Emily was just starting to get over him.

Hotch was a survivor.

He made the call.

As he put his phone away, he saw someone on the fire escape. He drew his gun and stood at the corner of the building. The man was in a suit. If he was a thief he was dressed strangely. As he alighted at the bottom of the steps and the ladder pulled away upwards he stepped out and trained his gun on the man.

"FBI! Freeze!"

The man turned and faced Morgan. He had a grin on his face and Morgan noticed that one of his eyes didn't move properly.

"Hands behind your head."

Mason Lowe obeyed, and Morgan cuffed his hands behind his back. He began to pat him down, and as he stooped, Lowe kicked him under the chin. Morgan fell back onto the wet ground, Lowe made to run.

Morgan caught him round the legs and Lowe went sprawling. Morgan was on him in an instant, sitting on his back, pressing the gun into the back of his neck.

"That was a mistake, you bastard. Go on; just give me a reason to blow your goddamned head off you sonofabitch!" Lowe didn't move. He just grinned.

"You are too late!"

Morgan ran his hands down Lowe's sides, checking his pockets. He was holding a small bottle up to the light when Dave came running out.

"Morgan! Reid's taken a turn for the worst. He needs us!"

Morgan dragged Lowe to his feet and Dave threw him his cuffs.

"Our UnSub!" Morgan announced. He cuffed Lowe to the hand rail of the fire escape, and the two of them left him there in the rain while they took the stairs two at a time to get to Reid.

A young nurse was standing by the door."You can't go in." She said. "Someone has injected him with something. They are trying to find out what."

"Insulin." Morgan said, handing over the bottle. "We got the guy as he was trying to get away!"

The young nurse pushed open the door.

"Insulin!" she shouted. "Mason gave him Insulin! The Feds got Doctor Mason!"

A doctor took the bottle off her. Reid was in the throes of a seizure on the bed, his face flushed and glazed with sweat, small cries of distress coming from him as his back arched and twisted. He felt hot to the touch as the Doctor held his head still, and squeezed 'Hypostop' dextrose gel into his mouth. Reid was being held down as he fought off the people trying to help him. Dave went in the room and got hold of his hand.

"Reid, it's ok, they are helping you."

Reid flung his head from side to side as he spat the gel out. Morgan held him still as the doctor tried again.

"Reid, kiddo, we have Hotch. He's alive! Now let us help you!" Morgan spoke gently to him, and gradually he calmed down enough for the Dextrose to be administered.

"Hotch?" Reid managed to speak, despite what was going on. "Hotch is dead. They killed him!" He started to fight again. "They raped him and killed him! I am so sorry, Hotch, they made me do it!"

Reid arched his back again and screamed Hotch's name. Morgan took his face in his hands and made him look at him.

"Listen to me! Hotch isn't dead. He's downstairs. It's ok."

Reid began to relax as the gel did its work and he realised that Hotch was still alive. He started to cry.

"Hotch is alive? You found him?"

"He's in a bad way, Reid, but he's here. Yes we found him. Thanks to you."

Dave arranged for Reid to be guarded while he recovered. Morgan stayed with Reid until the police guard arrived.

"It was Mason Lowe, Morgan. He4 took us from the crash by helicopter." Reid said. "Hotch was hurt before the crash. Lowe got out of his cuffs and hit him." It looked as if Reid was going to cry again. "Statistically, the chances of survival in the desert are..."

"It's ok. You did survive, Lowe is caught. We got him." And he hugged Reid to his chest and wondered how they had managed without him for so long.

-0-0-0-

Hotchner was too weak to go to theatre. They were flying in an eye specialist from Chicago, and they had a top renal unit there at Nevada. Scans told them that one kidney was crushed and needed to be removed. The other was split and could possibly be repaired. The muscles of his legs were wasted and needed months of physiotherapy. Six broken ribs, a star fracture to his skull, smashed nose and cuts to his face, and severe internal injuries caused by multiple rapes. They gave him an epidural injection as they attempted to repair the damage, and cut a colostomy so that he could heal. He was seriously malnourished, and the doctor told Dave that that alone could have killed him if they hadn't found him when they did.

"Recovery will take months; possibly even a year or two." He said. "I have not seen anyone so badly beaten and starved and still be alive. He is very strong. I'm hoping his strength will be enough to keep him going."

"What about his eye?" Morgan said. "Can you save his sight?"

"He will need a corneal graft and a lens. The eye itself should be ok. Whether we can restore sight is another matter."

"Can we see him?"

"Yes, for a few minutes. Don't tire him. He's very poorly."

They sat either side of Hotch, each gripping his hand; Dave stroked his long hair back off his face. He had a patch taped over his eye, and clips and stitches holding his nose together. His cheekbones stuck out prominently, his jaw line defined and un-natural.

They sat there all night, holding his hands, silent, infusing strength to him, praying for his recovery. At three in the morning, Emily arrived. Dave and Morgan left her alone with him.

When they had gone, Emily tenderly held his face and kissed him deeply.

"I really thought you were lost forever." She said to him as she kissed him. "Aaron, I am so in love with you." She ran her fingers through his tangled hair. "Get strong again, Sweetheart. I will be here for you."

She didn't realise she was crying until she saw that he was. Softly she wiped his tears away.

"I love you, Emily." He whispered. "I saw images of you. You gave me hope."

She kicked off her shoes and lay down next to him, her arms around him, her face in his hair, her lips on his neck, and she fell asleep.

-0-0-0-

Down stairs, outside in the rain, a one eyed man pulled the rail to which he was cuffed off the wall and slid the cuffs off his wrist. He ran off into the breaking dawn.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

-0-0-0-

**END**

**A/N This is the end, unless people want more. An epilogue maybe? You tell me what you want.**


End file.
